


Don't touch a hot stove, don't kiss a fire man (But how about you do anyway)

by WithAWhisper



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, I don't know what I'm doing, Other, Someone help, wtf what do i even put here though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithAWhisper/pseuds/WithAWhisper
Summary: Wow, you're never getting drunk again, you sure have a hangover today!And you woke up in someone else's bed, gosh that fiery head sure looks familiar...!





	1. A shower of kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, what the fuck am I doing

People probably think you planned for this to happen.  
You would like to say with full confidence that they are all wrong and you’re flying by the seat of your pants at all times.

Especially now. 

You stare at the back of a very familiar bartender that you had been crushing on for more than a year. You pat down your body frantically and are relieved (with a trickle of disappointment) to find that your clothes are, in fact still on your body.   
You peek under the covers to be sure.  
No, still there. (More than a trickle of disappointment.)

You look about. It’s a nice looking bedroom. Modest and simplistic. You can appreciate that. You turn back to your companion and can only assume that, you are now in the home above the bar of said bartender who you were apparently sleeping next to. 

You remember now. You’d gotten very drunk and you had no ride and it was too cold for a drunk human to be stumbling home alone and with no one properly looking after them. Grillby, was gracious enough to guide you up to his apartment for the night. But only because you’d clung onto him, merry and clingy in only the way a cheery drunk is able to. That...was as far as the memory went.

You make an attempt to crawl over Grillby and to the door in sight so you can sheepishly leave silently in the hopes of recuperating at home and returning with a proper apology when your face wasn’t oily and gross and you didn’t feel like hot garbage.

Having just woken with a hangover, of course, means that you failed the stealth check. You misjudged the trajectory of your hand against the edge and rather than feeling bed sheets, you slip right down to the floor, landing on your face.  
“...Are you feeling better then?” You hear above you. The littlest bit of amusement tinged in sleepiness. How cute. How annoying.

“Morning Grillby.” You grumble.

You roll over on your back because fuck getting up.

Grillby was not the smartly dressed man you always see when you walk through the door to Grillby’s. His head was propped up by a fiery hand under his chin. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

...He is very, very shirtless.

“Good morning.” He laughs, crackling as soft as gently stirred coals. You sit up as best as you can.

“Did I- uh, did I do something last night?” You blurt. “I’m still dressed, but I woke up in your bed and I uh, I assume you had a guest room?”

Grillby shifts to sit up and the covers fall to reveal more bare flames. Your eyes stray downwards, long enough that a crackle forces you back to amused white hot eyes. Oops.

“Are you sure you want to hear?” That doesn’t bode well.

“Yes.” You’re an adult, you can handle the truth. You’ve done way more humiliating things sober than drunk, whatever comes out of his mouth won’t phase you now.

“Well, you were very drunk…and professing your love to everyone in the bar.” You groan. He simply smiles. You wave your hand to keep going. “...You are a very affectionate drunk. You tried to kiss me, and when I….stopped you, you proceeded to kiss whatever you could reach that was not...my face.”

You close your eyes briefly, in pain. Literal pain. Oh god. You want to punch past you in the face. “Annnd...you’re shirtless because?”

“You threw up on my shirt...when you crawled into my bed. I hadn’t bothered to replace it when I changed the sheets.” He sounded more and more amused the more he spoke and you cringe and slowly lie back down again.

“I’m so sorry.” You say to the ceiling.

“Please get off the floor.”

“I can’t. Guess I’ll die here.” A fiery head pops into view and you stare up at Grillby’s bare face. 

“Vomit is not the worst thing in the world.” A hand is offered.

“Says you.” You take the hand.

You are pulled to your feet and pulled along outside the bedroom door and very gently shoved out. Welp.

“There’s a bathroom to your left. Feel free to freshen up.” He says before closing the door, likely to get dressed.

Can’t argue that. You do, you splash water on your face and comb your fingers through your hair. You rinse out your mouth because you taste like ass and wow, Grillby is the best man ever for putting up with drunk you. You will never forsaken him ever again, blessings to the Grillby temple for you are its most zealous acolyte.

He didn’t say anything about the attempted kiss. ...Or kisses to ‘everywhere else but his face’.

You squint at yourself in the mirror before wiping your face dry and facing the bathroom door with GREAT DIGNITY.

You can do this.


	2. time to face the flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck, merry chrysmus viv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck

When you exit the bathroom, you wander down the hall towards what you hope is the kitchen for a quick glass of water before you leave.

Would he even bother with a functional sink? How would he wash his own dishes otherwise? So unless he has absurdly long rubber gloves…

You wonder the logistics of this as you turn the faucet and drink from the tap.

You can hear the crackle of his flames before you hear his steps as Grillby steps into the kitchen. You pull away from the faucet, wiping your chin for excess water with a sheepish grin.

“Hey Grillby. I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.” Oh wow, hey, that’s the most bare skin Grillby’s ever shone that you’ve seen, besides the brief ogle you’d gotten when you woke up. He should wear muscle tank tops more often. His glasses are back, which are a slight shame. He has nice eyes.

You move to side step him when one bare arm blocks your way.

“You don’t have to leave so soon.” He says, in that quiet voice of his.

“No no, I’ve already overstayed my welcome enough-” A warm hand lands on your shoulder and you clam up. The heat of it seeps through your shirt.

“There’s a detail that I left out.” He says. “I asked you, as you were drunk if you would wait till morning for us to talk.”

Your anxiety spikes. Those are not good words to be said in any prelude to a discussion.

Grillby must have picked up something on your face so he adds, “Nothing terrible, I assure you. But I would ask again, since you’re sober now if you would stay for breakfast?”

You shuffle your feet on admittedly cold kitchen tiles. Grillby was the only warmth in the room. “Talk about what exactly?”

“The kiss.”

Oh boy.

“Oh.” A flush creeps up your neck including embarrassment and you duck your head. Was this his nice way of turning you down? Make you breakfast to break it gently instead of just kicking you out the door? It was sweet, but you’d much prefer straightforward rejections, you don’t need a cushion for the blow. Especially for how horribly you’d come onto him.

“That’s not necessary. I think I know what you want to say.” You say. You watch his other hand come up and cup your face, tilting until you’re looking into the spectacled frames of Grillby’s eyes.

“I don’t think you do. I won’t force you to stay against your will, but this is something I’ve been wanting to say for awhile.”

You feel your heart pound and your body heat rising. Shit, you’re hungover and you’re getting sweaty and gross because you think- if Grillby is saying what you think he’s saying- you always get sweaty when you’re excited and hopeful okay!!!

Grillby guides you to a small dining room and leaves to bustle around in his kitchen. You fidget in your chair, smoothing your palms over your knees. This is a familiar scenario, you waiting for your meal and Grillby to come through the doorway, plates in hand but much more intimate. You’ve never had Grillby made you breakfast in his personal kitchen.

You have to stand up eventually, your nerves getting the better of you. Wander back into the kitchen to watch Grillby frying up some eggs. Maybe if you were really suave and smooth you’d lean sexily against the doorway like the perfect setup to a sexually charged domestic romcom.

You don’t. You walk closer and stand to the side, watching until Grillby turns to you with a little jagged smile on his face.

“Any preference?”

You shake your head with a smile of your own. Watching a fire elemental cook with fire magic honestly didn’t look any different from how regular cooking looked like. But maybe you can’t tell, not being a monster.

There’s no frills or whistles. It’s just eggs, and with the help of a bit of monster magic, the healing properties take the edge off the killer hangover still lingering. And soon enough, your plate is empty.

You set your plate aside and focus on Grillby, straightening up in your chair and your hands clenched in your lap. Admittedly, you’d eaten a lot faster than the fire monster, thus you suffered through a longer wait before Grillby places his plate off to the side as well.

“Okay. What…” Deep breath. Raise your head to make eye contact. “What did you want to say?”

“You have egg on your cheeks.” He gestures with a his hand in the general direction of your entire face.

Your calm poise broke. “What??? No. Where.” You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Little globs end up smearing over the rest of untouched skin.

“You’ve made it worse, here-” Grillby raises himself out of his chair and reaches across the table to, brushing his fingers against your cheekbone and you bluster.

“how many times do you have to clean me up in the past twenty hours, how did i get egg _that high_ -”

The crackling that undertones everything Grillby said and did got louder and you realize that, with his shaking shoulders that he’s laughing.

“This,” He _giggles_ , “was not how I wanted it to happen.” And then drops his head onto your shoulder.

You feel a blush _burning_ it’s way across your face in mortification, wiping off the egg with your hand as Grillby continues to laugh into your neck.

With a sigh of air that you can feel brushing over your skin, he pulls back, blue in the face and his flames whiter than before.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you, this isn’t...this wasn’t how I wanted to reveal my feelings for you.”

A dash of delight mixes in with the embarrassment as well as dismay. Of course this would just be the most fumbled love confession you would ever be subjected to. And it’s your own fault.

“There’s still any after this?” You joke, tone too timid to make it believable.

“I had intended to last night in fact.” The blue has faded from his face, the pop of his flames calming with his composure returning.

That was news. “Really?”

“Really. But then, you had come in and…” You don’t need him to fill in the rest. You know. So close to the holidays, you’d decided to celebrate early, because as it turned out most everyone you knew were going to be busy during Christma.

“I got too drunk.” You lay your hands on the table and Grillby reaches out and takes one in his.

“Sorry.” You say with hunched shoulders and a sheepish grin.

“Like I said,” He twines your fingers together. “Vomit is not the worst thing in the world.”

You laugh.

-

 

“Wait!”

Grillby pauses in clearing the table, already halfway to the sink before turning back.

“I uh- I like you too!” You rush out.

One single approximation of a eyebrow raised up, and a wordless crackle.

“I just realized I never said it back, so…” You wave your arms around. “Just wanted to reciprocate.” You say, demurely.

“Oh, I thought that was already established.” He chuckles, turning back to resume his task. “I have the ruined clothes to prove it.”

“A drunken kiss and _vomit_ don’t count.” You say in mock scorn. With your feelings all sorted out you don’t even feel the shame anymore.

He doesn’t even turn around when he replies. “Well, when you’ve brushed your teeth, maybe then we can share a proper kiss.”

You choke.

“Well…! I…! G-good!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goddamn

**Author's Note:**

> Shit man, I'm writing a thing


End file.
